had imagined, or could imagine, any more than she could have imagined childbirth. She had been right. Washington was a cauldron, and every day scaldedher soul. There were mornings—and she would keep these secret to her dying day—when her first waking thought was
Dear God, take me away from this
.
But then on days like this she would come out and see the people,
her
people, their faces alight with joy, and there was magic in them and in her attacked and slandered country, and in such moments she saw other faces, frozen at Valley Forge, bloody at Little Round Top, raging at Belleau Wood and Omaha Beach, stoic at Little Rock, jubilant on the moon, faces of people like these right in front of her, and from them all she took the strength to continue.
An agent whispered, but this was not an easy thing to back away from, all those yearning faces and reaching arms. She reached back, grasped hands, felt the magic—a lovely teenage girl with braces, a man with a burned face, a woman with tears rolling down her round cheeks. A tall man, very handsome, with a black ponytail and shining black eyes.
21
“I never heard of them,” Hallie said.
“Of course not. You only hear about the stupid ones.”
“What do you want?”
“ ‘Come now therefore, and let us slay her, and cast her into some pit, and we shall see what will become of her dreams.’ ”
“Slay who?”
“Use your imagination.”
Something about his use of the word “patriot” triggered it: “The president?” she said. She pushed away the horror she felt, tried to focus on reasoning with him. “You won’t do it with a bioagent. She’s surrounded by dogs and sensors and who knows what else.”
“The Skinner is new to this earth. No referent for dogs and sensors.”
“But you’d still have to get close.”
“People get close when they go to church.”
“Church?” Now she remembered Ely, in his basement, mentioning the cathedral. There had been a lot of news about some special Easter service the president and her family was supposed to attend there. Not only her, but all kinds of political people who were usually at one another’s throats, and religious leaders, too.
Ely was here, which meant that someone else would be there. Suddenly she remembered Redhorse:
I’m goin’ to church. Big church
. She felt sick, but knew she had to keep Ely talking.
“What will you gain by killing her?”
He chuckled. “You know what they say. A fish rots from the head.”
“Where did you get this thing?”
“The Skinner?” His smile widened. “
You
brought it back.”
“What?”
“It was in the battery pack.”
God damn him
, she thought.
God damn that expedition
. “You came here to get it.”
“I did, yes.”
Anger got the better of her. “You asshole. Why did you shit in my living room?”
“The police had to think that a real burglar was at work.”
“What now?”
“Laning is going to die a very unpleasant death. And so are you.”
“Like Robin?”
He just laughed.
“You’re going to kill me and make it look like suicide? People get caught doing that all the time.”
“Stupid people do. They don’t bother to learn that hanging and strangling leave different ligature marks on the neck. Homicide 101. It worked fine with Robin.”
He switched on the basement lights. The Ely she had known was pudgy, with long brown hair and a beard. Squinting, she saw a gaunt, clean-shaven man in a white Tyvek hazmat suit with booties and a hood, safety glasses, and heavy black rubber gloves. She thought:
No DNA
.
“Nobody is going to believe that I killed myself,” she said.
“You’re distraught over the deaths of your expedition team members. You broke up with your boyfriend. The FBI is after you. And your father died, what, about a year ago?” He held up a piece of paper. “If there’s any doubt, this will dispel it. A note, written on your computer and printed here, too.”
“You’re insane.”
He looked at his watch.
Dear God, take me away from this
.
But then on days like this she would come out and see the people,
her
people, their faces alight with joy, and there was magic in them and in her attacked and slandered country, and in such moments she saw other faces, frozen at Valley Forge, bloody at Little Round Top, raging at Belleau Wood and Omaha Beach, stoic at Little Rock, jubilant on the moon, faces of people like these right in front of her, and from them all she took the strength to continue.
An agent whispered, but this was not an easy thing to back away from, all those yearning faces and reaching arms. She reached back, grasped hands, felt the magic—a lovely teenage girl with braces, a man with a burned face, a woman with tears rolling down her round cheeks. A tall man, very handsome, with a black ponytail and shining black eyes.
21
“I never heard of them,” Hallie said.
“Of course not. You only hear about the stupid ones.”
“What do you want?”
“ ‘Come now therefore, and let us slay her, and cast her into some pit, and we shall see what will become of her dreams.’ ”
“Slay who?”
“Use your imagination.”
Something about his use of the word “patriot” triggered it: “The president?” she said. She pushed away the horror she felt, tried to focus on reasoning with him. “You won’t do it with a bioagent. She’s surrounded by dogs and sensors and who knows what else.”
“The Skinner is new to this earth. No referent for dogs and sensors.”
“But you’d still have to get close.”
“People get close when they go to church.”
“Church?” Now she remembered Ely, in his basement, mentioning the cathedral. There had been a lot of news about some special Easter service the president and her family was supposed to attend there. Not only her, but all kinds of political people who were usually at one another’s throats, and religious leaders, too.
Ely was here, which meant that someone else would be there. Suddenly she remembered Redhorse:
I’m goin’ to church. Big church
. She felt sick, but knew she had to keep Ely talking.
“What will you gain by killing her?”
He chuckled. “You know what they say. A fish rots from the head.”
“Where did you get this thing?”
“The Skinner?” His smile widened. “
You
brought it back.”
“What?”
“It was in the battery pack.”
God damn him
, she thought.
God damn that expedition
. “You came here to get it.”
“I did, yes.”
Anger got the better of her. “You asshole. Why did you shit in my living room?”
“The police had to think that a real burglar was at work.”
“What now?”
“Laning is going to die a very unpleasant death. And so are you.”
“Like Robin?”
He just laughed.
“You’re going to kill me and make it look like suicide? People get caught doing that all the time.”
“Stupid people do. They don’t bother to learn that hanging and strangling leave different ligature marks on the neck. Homicide 101. It worked fine with Robin.”
He switched on the basement lights. The Ely she had known was pudgy, with long brown hair and a beard. Squinting, she saw a gaunt, clean-shaven man in a white Tyvek hazmat suit with booties and a hood, safety glasses, and heavy black rubber gloves. She thought:
No DNA
.
“Nobody is going to believe that I killed myself,” she said.
“You’re distraught over the deaths of your expedition team members. You broke up with your boyfriend. The FBI is after you. And your father died, what, about a year ago?” He held up a piece of paper. “If there’s any doubt, this will dispel it. A note, written on your computer and printed here, too.”
“You’re insane.”
He looked at his watch.
Similar Books
